


The Crisis

by Rosawyn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexuality Spectrum, Birthday Party, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Future Fic, Gay Chicken, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Massage, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Protective Bucky Barnes, Public Display of Affection, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Has Issues, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tony Being Tony, Unreliable Narrator, Virgin Steve Rogers, set in 2018, sort of, which of course means "Tony Being an Asshole"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:23:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosawyn/pseuds/Rosawyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve just wants to save everyone, but Bucky wants to save <i>Steve</i>.  Steve might be turning 100, but some things never change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crisis

“Hey, Buck,” Steve called as he walked into their apartment, “you home?” The door hadn't been locked, so it would have been kind of concerning if he hadn't been.

“Yeah, in here,” Bucky answered from the living room, then poked his head around the corner, messy brown hair swinging about his jaw. “Just checking the RSVPs for your big birthday bash.” He grinned. “It's shaping up to be a pretty good turnout.”

Steve swallowed. “Um, about that...” Throughout his whole conversation with Fury, he had actually _forgotten_ about the damn party. It was in a week, and this mission would take a month, _minimum_.

Bucky's brow furrowed. “What? You are not backing out now; I don't care what you say.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I will tie you to a fucking chair, Rogers, so help me.”

Steve scratched at the back of his head, unable to meet Bucky's eyes. “I could...probably, um, break out of any rope you used... Enhanced strength and all... But, um.” He bit his lip. Bucky was going to _hate_ him; he'd been planning this party for _months_ : 'It's not _every_ year your best friend turns one-hundred, Steve; this is kind of a big deal.' It had been a pretty big deal the previous year when Bucky turned one-hundred, but of course Steve's birthday was an even bigger deal, because he was _Captain America_. And because Bucky was way better at planning parties than Steve could ever be. “That's not the point.” Steve sighed. “Fury needs me—”

“Fuck Fury,” Bucky snapped, eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. “He can let you have time off for your fucking birthday.”

“Well, he would,” Steve said, grimacing. “Was going to, in fact. But there is literally no one else on the planet who can do this job, since the guy who was gonna do it broke both his legs.” He let out a breath. “And fractured his pelvis.”

“I will break both of Fury's legs and fracture _his_ pelvis.” Bucky gestured angrily as though wishing Fury was right there so he could make good on his threat. “He always calls _you_ in,” he insisted, pointing emphatically at Steve's chest, “because he knows you'll always do it if he makes the sob story sob-y enough.”

“Fury's trying to save people's lives,” Steve said. It was true. Fury knew Steve wouldn't agree to any other type of mission. And this one was pretty damn important.

“Yeah, and I'm trying to save _your_ life,” Bucky shot back. Rolling his eyes, he waved his arms through the air. “I don't even know why I'm ever surprised—I don't stand a chance; you always pick him.”

“Bucky, that's—” Steve sighed, looking down at the pale, dingy carpet. It wasn't fair, but they both knew that already. “There are kids...little kids who...well, they could die—probably will die—if...”

“Right.” Sighing, Bucky leaned back against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “That's the kind of mission you'd have to be a complete _monster_ to turn down.” He rubbed one hand over his mouth unhappily. “I get it.” Sighing again, he shoved his hands into his pockets. His hair swung forward, obscuring most of his face as he looked down at his feet.

“Bucky...” Stepping closer, Steve put his hands on Bucky's shoulders and rested his forehead against Bucky's. “I'm sorry.”

“God, don't be.” Bucky sniffed, huffing out a soft, vaguely bitter laugh. “It's just a stupid party—we'll reschedule for whenever you're back.” He tipped his head back against the wall, meeting Steve's eyes. “How long will you be gone?”

Steve pressed his lips together. “I could be back by the beginning of August.”

Bucky blew out a sigh through his lips. “At the earliest.”

Steve nodded, dropping his hands back to his sides and looking away. “I should be packing...”

Catching him by the wrists, Bucky tugged him gently closer. “Because of course you're leaving right away.” Steve nodded again, wanting nothing more than to rest against Bucky, to let the other man hold him up for a bit—but he'd have time to sleep on the plane. He really needed to be packing... “Kiss me,” Bucky said.

Steve rolled his eyes, unable to stop how one side of his lips tipped up. “Because we _usually_ do goodbye kisses.” They hadn't since they were about six. Well, Bucky had been seven.

“If I'm not going to be seeing you for a month, I need something to remember you by,” Bucky said reasonably, thumbs brushing gently against the insides of Steve's wrists. The smooth metal of Bucky's prosthetic was cool. Bucky's flesh hand was warm. “And you owe me, since I'm gonna have to send out all those invitation retractions, so c'mon.” He grinned wickedly. “I've always wanted to know what the inside of that mouth tastes like.” So they were talking about _that_ kind of kissing. They'd never done that. Unsurprisingly, since they hadn't done any sort of kissing since they were six, and little kids kissing don't tend to involve tongues.

“Buck...” Steve tried, “I'm really not in the mood—” He was going to say, 'for Gay Chicken,' when Bucky cut him off.

“Let me help.” Dropping Steve's wrists, he wrapped one of his arms across Steve's back and used his other hand to grope Steve's ass.

Unable to suppress his grin at the absurdity of it all, Steve quirked an eyebrow. “That move usually work with the ladies? Or do you save that one for the guys?” Maybe he _was_ in the mood for Gay Chicken after all. Or just...to spend some time with Bucky doing _something_. Something easy, familiar, uncomplicated.

Bucky rolled his eyes, pulling Steve's hips more snugly against his own. “You know I've never dated any guys, Stevie.”

Steve grinned. “'Cause you're saving your man-cherry for me?”

Bucky made a sound that was a mixture of a snort, a choke, and a giggle, and pushed Steve away. “One, you have no idea what those words would even mean if they meant anything at all, you hopeless _virgin_. And two, I've changed my mind: I'm not in love with you after all.”

Steve flashed him a put-on sympathetic smile, rolling his shoulders unconcernedly. “I knew you'd get over me.”

Bucky managed to smile while looking both mildly hurt and mildly offended—it was quite a feat, but he'd always been better at acting than Steve. “Fuck you, Rogers.”

Steve grinned broadly. “Thought you were over me?”

Taking Steve by the shoulders and turning him, Bucky pushed him back against the wall, eyelids heavy as he whispered, “Don't have to be in love to fuck someone.”

“Right.” Steve smiled pleasantly, shrugging one shoulder. “I keep forgetting that.”

Bucky snorted softly, bumping their noses together. “You would.”

“I believe someone once called me a 'hopeless virgin',” Steve pointed out helpfully.

Bucky snorted again. “Should add 'hopeless romantic' to the list, apparently.”

Steve shrugged one shoulder again. “Sure.”

“You're fucking _adorable_ ,” Bucky growled. And he sort of gripped the side of Steve's neck and jaw all at once—he did kind of have big hands—leaned in, and kissed him.

Steve was about physically incapable of turning down a dare—especially from _Bucky_ —so he just kissed him back. Supposedly, he wasn't any good at kissing—at least according to Natasha, who'd kissed him that one time for a mission. (Peggy hadn't complained, but there were multiple reasons why that probably didn't mean he was actually 'good' at it.) But it didn't matter if he was good at it, just that he didn't back down.

And...speaking of Natasha...while her kiss certainly hadn't been _unpleasant_ —aside from the shock, the unavoidable awkwardness, and the annoying critique afterwards—her show had been for the crowd of people, while Bucky's was for Steve alone. He was doing things with his lips and tongue and teeth that... Steve shuddered a bit. He wasn't sure if that sort of reaction earned or lost points for the game—he'd never quite had anyone push it this far before, not even Tony.

It was over far too quickly, though, and Steve was trying to catch his breath as Bucky whispered, “Fucking _hell_ , Stevie,” against his lips.

Steve offered a sympathetic grimace that Bucky couldn't see since his eyes were still closed. “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, voice rough as he shoved at one of Steve's shoulders. “Fucking awful.”

“Yeah, well.” Steve shrugged, one side of his lips flickering a hint of a smile. “Apparently people need _practice_ for these sorts of things.”

Bucky snorted, brushing his thumb over Steve's sensitive bottom lip. “Nat told me about that.”

“Guess you two can compare notes now: 'just how bad at kissing is Steve Rogers?' Rank me out of ten in several criteria categories.” He actually had no idea what those categories might be. But Natasha probably did. “You could even sell your stories to a tabloid or go on one of those awful TV shows—tell the whole world in vivid detail what it's like to kiss Captain America.” Steve grinned. “It'll give you something to do while you wait for me to get back.”

“Sure.” Bucky punched Steve in the arm. “Maybe I'll just do that. Stir up some controversy, get called a liar, get a few death threats—should be fun.”

Steve frowned. He hadn't thought of all that, but...it was pretty realistic, sadly. Even given the modern world's insistence that it was so enlightened and tolerant, that it was really so much better now, honest. “Maybe wait 'till I get back, in that case. I can back up your story.”

Flashing Steve a sad half-smile, Bucky turned and walked the few steps to flop down on the couch. “Not sure that'd actually help me get _less_ death threats—it's sweet, though.”

Steve moved to sit next to Bucky. The couch was too damn comfortable to consider getting up again. He groaned, rubbing his palms over his face. “I really do need to pack...”

“I could help?” Bucky offered.

Steve smiled, lopsided and warm. “You gonna give me a foot rub too, like a good wife?”

“No joke, Stevie,” Bucky said, voice serious as he wrapped one hand around the back of Steve's neck and massaged the tense muscles there, “you know I'd make a great wife.”

Closing his eyes, Steve hissed slightly at the sharp bursts of pain-pleasure Bucky's fingers teased from his flesh. “Kissing, nagging, cooking, cleaning, massage...I'd give you top marks in every category.” He let his forehead fall forward to rest on Bucky's sturdy shoulder as Bucky slid his other hand up Steve's back to join in working through the knots. “What more could a guy ask for?”

“Fucking?” Bucky suggested. “Giving head?”

Steve snorted and giggled at the same time which probably didn't sound very dignified, but Bucky's hands on him felt far too good for him to care. “Think I'm probably a little under-qualified to judge anyone's ability in that area, Buck—hopeless virgin, remember?”

“How could I forget?” Bucky pressed a kiss to the short hair behind Steve's ear. He sighed, and the brush of his breath made Steve shiver. “What are you gonna do without me for a full month, Stevie?”

“Suffer miserably,” Steve mumbled, eyes still squeezed shut as Bucky pressed insistent fingers deep into the aching corners where his neck met his shoulders.

“Just the way you like it, hey?” Bucky asked, face still pressed close enough that his lips brushed Steve's skin when they moved.

“Sure.” Steve said. He was just so tired. He wasn't even sure what he was answering anymore. But he could rest for a few more minutes. And Bucky had even offered to help him pack.

o0o

Steve awoke with a confused start. He was lying face down on Bucky's chest, and he'd drooled a rather disgusting puddle on Bucky's shirt. Bucky was lying back with his head propped up on the couch arm, fingers brushing soothingly through Steve's hair.

“Hey,” Bucky said, smiling lopsidedly.

“Sorry,” Steve tried, pushing himself upright and gesturing lamely to the drool patch.

Bucky shrugged. “Wouldn't be the grossest thing you've done—you've thrown up on me, remember?”

Steve smiled ruefully, stretching his neck to both sides. “Apparently you do.”

Bucky shook his head, grinning. “You're a pretty memorable guy.”

Steve looked around, but their only clocks were in the kitchen and on their phones. “How long was I...?”

“Less than an hour,” Bucky assured him. Tilting his head to one side, he raised one shoulder in a vague shrug. “Figured you could spare that, and Fury hasn't been blowing your phone up with angry messages, so I guess I was right.”

Standing up, Steve stretched. “Yeah, gotta be ready for five am, but I should pack before I sleep—and I should shower too.”

Bucky grinned crookedly, eyes flashing wickedness. “Want some help with that?”

Apparently cuddling on the couch and literal sleeping together still counted for the game. Which, well, they probably kinda _should_. Steve shot Bucky a small smile. “I'm no expert, obviously, but I don't think showering with another person usually takes _less_ time.”

Standing up and stretching as well, Bucky flashed Steve another grin. “I could scrub your back, though, help you clean all those hard to reach places.” Steve's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what Bucky meant by that, since he was pretty sure he knew how to take a shower and get clean all by himself, when Bucky said, “Besides...” Pulling off his shirt, he winked at Steve. “You did drool all over me, so I kind of need a shower now too.” Steve stared at him, partly in confusion—because Bucky couldn't _seriously_ be suggesting _actually_ showering together, could he?—and partly because he just wanted to _draw_ Bucky. Every time he saw Bucky, he kind of wanted to draw him, but especially when he could see all those defined muscles. But of course he didn't have time. Not if he wanted to sleep at all, and he was too tired to do a decent sketch anyway. He could always draw Bucky when he got back, though he might have trouble convincing him to take his shirt off then. Bucky could be a really uncooperative model some days. Steve shook his head to clear it, because Bucky was speaking again: “How about I pack most of your crap while you shower, then shower while you get ready for bed and pack anything I've missed?”

“Um, sure,” Steve said, still staring stupidly. He shook his head again. “I—thanks.”

Bucky tossed his shirt into the hamper, and turned a smile that was both broad and somehow guarded on Steve. “What's a little wife like me for, anyway?”

“Husband,” Steve corrected. He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “You'd be my husband if...if we were married.”

Reaching out, Bucky took Steve's hand and tugged gently towards the bathroom, reminding him that he had in fact been heading to take a shower. “I suppose you'd be my husband too.”

Steve hummed in agreement. Joke or not—and it was obviously a joke, just part of the game, since you couldn't get more gay than a pair of married husbands... “Doesn't sound so bad, does it?”

Bucky smiled, warm and sweet and maybe a little sad. “Suppose a guy like me could do a lot worse.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth then pushed him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. “Just make sure it's me you think about when you jerk off,” he called through the door.

Chuckling and shaking his head, Steve called back, “Not sure who else you think I'd ever think of.”

“I dunno,” Bucky replied, a grin threaded through his words, “maybe Natasha?”

Steve made a face at the thought as he started stripping off his clothes for the shower. Thinking about Natasha would just be _weird_. Even weirder than actually thinking about Bucky. Not that Steve ever really thought about _anyone_...just...kind of _did_ it to get it over with. Maybe that wasn't normal, but it wasn't really something he wanted to have a serious conversation about with anyone.

He wasn't sure if Bucky was still even close enough to hear, but he assumed he was and said, “Nah, I'll be faithful to my husband, even in my thoughts.” He was pretty sure he heard Bucky snort in response, so he probably had heard it.

Of course, when Steve got in the shower, he couldn't jerk off at all, because he couldn't stop thinking of Bucky (or Natasha), and of course that was Bucky's stupid plan all along. The jerk. Part of the payback he deserved for ruining the party plans. Steve shook his head as he let the water run over his face. He really would have to find some way to try to make it up to Bucky. He just...wasn't sure what Bucky would want from him. Wasn't sure he ever knew. Other than, well, that Bucky wanted to spend time with him. And take care of him? Maybe he could take a full month to just laze around the apartment or something—assuming there wasn't another emergency only he could handle. Steve swore under his breath and rested his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall. No matter what he did, he was apparently destined to keep failing when it came to Bucky.

Bucky was back; Bucky was himself again, or near enough that he seemed to like who he was and be comfortable in his own skin. The arm didn't even seem to bother him anymore. But he just never seemed quite _happy_. And maybe, given everything that had happened, he never could be, but...that was just a depressing thought. Bucky _deserved_ to be happy.

o0o

“What time is it?” Steve rasped into the soft material of Bucky's t-shirt. He was cradled against Bucky's broad, steady chest, Bucky's strong arms wrapped around him, warding off the nightmares that had wrenched him from sleep. The taste of blood lurked in the back of his throat—he'd screamed too loudly. Again. But Bucky was there to tell him he was safe, to remind him where he was. To cling to as though his life depended on that contact. (Maybe it did.)

“Almost three,” Bucky replied, hands soothing as they smoothed up and down Steve's back. Considering how often they ended up in each other's beds due to nightmares, it sometimes felt a little pointless to start the night in separate beds.

Steve grunted unhappily. “I have to leave in two hours.” He made an even less happy sound. “And I should probably take another shower first.” Considering the way his damp t-shirt clung between his shoulder blades.

Bucky was quiet and still for a moment, then his voice was edged with desperation when he said, “Fuck Fury to hell and back—again.” He took a shaky breath. “Make someone else do it.” Steve took a breath, opening his mouth to respond, but Bucky shook him and added, “ _No_ , Steve. You—you're in no condition to go anywhere.”

Making a frustrated sound, Steve shoved himself up so he could look into Bucky's eyes in the dim light. “I'm _fine_ , Buck. I just get nightmares sometimes. It's not a big deal.”

Bucky's features hardened. “It's a big deal when you scream enough to tear your own throat.” Oh. So Bucky had smelled the blood. Steve really needed to brush his teeth...use some mouthwash.

“I heal.” Steve glared back at Bucky. “You of all people know just how well I heal.” The blood _wasn't_ a big deal. It never was. It didn't matter how much he lost; his body would just make more. “And besides...” Steve's eyes slid away and he sighed, picking at a loose thread on the bedspread. “There _isn't_ anyone else.”

“Bullshit.” Bucky sat up straighter against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest.

Steve shrugged. He really wasn't in a mood to fight with Bucky. “Maybe you're right. Maybe there is someone else who could do it. But the fact is that there's no time to find that person. So it amounts to the same thing.”

“Could I do it?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “It's not just about the serum this time, Buck.”

Bucky raised one eyebrow. “It's not flying a plane is it? Because—” Chuckling, Steve shook his head. It was an old joke: 'Steve Rogers can't land a fucking plane'. One of Bucky's favourites, especially when others were around. “Could I come with you?” Bucky tried.

Steve grimaced. “Not this time, Buck.”

“Is it about fucking SHIELD clearance?” Bucky demanded. “Because _you're_ not even an Agent anymore.” Not to mention that Steve's clearance was for an entirely different and now defunct version of SHIELD.

Steve shook his head again. Then scrubbed his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. “Look, can I—? I know I need to shower and get dressed and stuff soon, but...” He just wanted to _rest_ a bit longer. Bucky quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, eyes assessing, then grinned indulgently and spread his arms in invitation, so Steve crawled forward to press himself gratefully against Bucky's side. “God, Buck,” Steve admitted, pressing his face into the solid warmth of Bucky's chest, “I really am gonna miss you.”

“'Course you will,” Bucky teased, stroking his hand over the back of Steve's head. “You're helpless without me.” Steve didn't bother arguing, because he'd proved ages ago that he really _couldn't_ get by on his own. He just traced the shape of Bucky's abs through the thin material of his t-shirt. Bucky's arm tightened around him and he glanced up at Bucky's face. Bucky's eyes were strangely intense. “Can I kiss you again before you go?” he asked.

Steve scraped his teeth over his bottom lip. “Um.” His brow furrowed. “I should probably brush my teeth first.”

Bucky laughed, breathless and a little surprised, cupping Steve's jaw and brushing his thumb over his bottom lip. “I don't think I'd mind the taste that much.”

“Vampire,” Steve teased, closing his eyes. Bucky chuckled. His thumb rested against Steve's lips, and without bothering to think about it in his fuzzy, didn't-get-enough-sleep mind, Steve closed his lips around it and nipped at it with his teeth, the tip of his tongue grazing the roughness of Bucky's thumbprint. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath, and Steve pulled back, eyes wide as he mentally cursed himself for his utmost stupidity. “That was— Buck, I— Sorry; that wasn't—” He hadn't meant it _that_ way— _had_ he? He dropped his gaze to the bedspread, his cheeks and ears heating painfully.

“Stevie,” Bucky said, grabbing him by the back of the head and pressing their foreheads together, “please don't have a crisis now. It's fine. Don't worry about it.”

Steve groaned. “I'm just...”

“Hopeless?” Bucky offered.

Steve's lips tipped up in a grateful half-smile. “I was gonna say 'stupid'.”

“That too,” Bucky agreed, cool metal thumb brushing across the heated flesh of Steve's cheek.

Steve let out a sigh. “I should probably take a shower.”

Bucky grinned. “Gonna jerk off thinking about sucking my fingers?”

Steve shoved him, a new wave of blush washing over him. “Jerk.”

Bucky waggled his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

“I—” Steve spluttered. He'd never made _that_ connection before. Was he ever going to be able to call Bucky a jerk without thinking of... _that_ ever again? He glared at Bucky. “I think I hate you.”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, smile crooked and unconcerned. “I think you love me.”

Steve mirrored Bucky's shrug. “That too.”

Bucky made puppy-dog eyes at Steve. “Forgiven, then?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled, messing up Bucky's hair as though Bucky was an actual dog. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and twisted his features into a half-smile, half-grimace. Sliding off the bed, Steve paused, looking back at Bucky. If Bucky was gonna make it impossible for Steve to jerk off, Steve might as well return the favour. He raised an eyebrow. “While I'm gone, you gonna think about me while you jerk off?”

Bucky looked up at him through dark lashes. “You're all I ever think about.”

Steve couldn't help blushing _again_. And grinning stupidly, awkwardly. He couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he just retreated into the bathroom. Bucky'd won this round, obviously.

o0o

Steve walked out of the bathroom, fresh and clean and a lot more comfortable, still shirtless as he finished towelling his hair.

“Hey, Stevie!” Bucky said from where he lounged on Steve's bed. His gaze was somehow both lazy and sharp as it followed Steve's movements. “Do I get that kiss now?”

“Oh.” Steve blushed again, ducking his head. He'd kind of thought Bucky wouldn't want to after Steve's stupid stunt with Bucky's thumb. “Sure...if you want.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I guess I could always use the practice.”

Sliding off the bed, Bucky advanced on him—well, _prowled_ , more accurately—in a way that made Steve's heart leap in his chest like a trapped butterfly. (And that was probably some sort of mixed metaphor, but he hadn't gotten enough sleep to be writing poetry.) And he might not know anything about kissing—there were _things_ one could do with lips and tongue and apparently _teeth—_ but he knew how to meet a challenge, so instead of waiting passively, he stepped forward and met Bucky, taking him by the shoulder and side of the neck and tilting his head a bit so he could press their mouths together.

He was thinking too much and trying too hard, because it wasn't nearly as good as it had been the night before, but then suddenly Bucky had him shoved against the bedroom wall, and Steve was shaking a bit all over as he pulled Bucky closer, chasing after Bucky's lips every time they pulled away. His eyelids were heavy and pleasant heat pooled in his belly and he just— He wanted to be here with Bucky forever. Was this what kissing was supposed to be like when you meant it? When you weren't raw with grief, and about to do something incredibly stupid and incredibly important, and riding in a speeding car with your commanding officer watching and rolling his eyes? The sudden unwelcome thought of Fury watching _this_ made Steve choke on a giggle.

“All right?” Bucky whispered, breath warm as it brushed across Steve's cheek.

“Yeah.” Steve's hands clenched reflexively where they held onto Bucky. Then he frowned, worried. “Still bad? Me, I mean?” How much 'practice' did a person usually need to go from 'awful' to 'passable'? How would someone know when he was getting better? Or _if_ he was getting better? It wasn't like a drawing where he could look at it and say, 'Yeah, I like how that looks.' It wasn't like drawing at _all_.

It wasn't like firing a gun or throwing a punch where he could _see_ if he'd hit the damn target.

“Stevie.” Bucky groaned, leaning his weight against Steve and pressing him harder against the wall. “You're killin' me.”

Steve stroked his tangled hair a bit. “You want me to practice with someone else?”

Bucky growled and shoved at Steve's shoulder. “Don't you fucking _dare_.”

Steve grinned. “You _like_ me hopeless. It helps you feel superior.”

“Damn right,” Bucky said, voice still rough, and kissed him again.

o0o

As Steve stared out the small window of the plane into the vague haze of early morning clouds, he touched his still oversensitive lips gingerly with his fingertips. He kind of hoped Bucky at least was getting some benefit from these kisses 'to remember him by,' because they were just making Steve miss him _more_. Which was kind of stupid, because they'd just been jokes, dares, part of the game. It's not like they really counted.

Steve rested the corner of his forehead against the cool, smooth, unyielding window. Maybe he just missed that camaraderie, that easy banter and playful teasing. And kissing was just the newest way that had manifested.

Steve sighed quietly. He just missed _Bucky_. He missed every damn thing about him. From the smell of his dirty socks to the way he'd grin cheekily while licking spaghetti sauce off the spoon he was using to stir it—no matter how many times Sam scolded him for that, saying it was disgusting. Which it kind of _was_ , but it's not like either Bucky or Steve could actually get sick, so it really wasn't a big deal.

o0o

Steve slept for nearly twenty-four hours his first day back. Bucky woke him up a few times to force a protein bar and some Gatorade into his mouth and then shove him towards the bathroom. But mostly he just let him sleep, because he needed to be well rested for his party the very next day. It was the only day that worked for everyone's schedules, apparently, but Steve got the sense from some of Bucky's half-heard grumblings that it was mostly Tony who'd insisted on the day, saying something about how he'd already rearranged his life once for this party.

Still, even though the party was taking place in Avengers Tower, a building owned by Tony which also happened to be his primary residence, Tony still managed to show up a full hour late, loudly complaining that _someone_ had already eaten most of the appetizers that _he'd_ paid for. As if he hadn't insisted on paying for _everything_.

Bruce hovered near one of Tony's elbows looking vaguely concerned, and Pepper trailed on Tony's other side looking vaguely disapproving. Of Tony; she was all cordial smiles for everyone else. Rhodey and Happy, who had also arrived with Tony, headed straight to the bar, sat down, and pretended Tony didn't exist.

“Apparently he needed all four of his handlers to drag him here,” Bucky muttered to Steve.

“I don't think...” But Steve frowned, thinking better of what he'd been about to protest. Pepper, Bruce, Happy, and Rhodey pretty much _were_ Tony's handlers.

“Hey.” Bucky bumped his shoulder into Steve's. “Don't worry about him. You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.”

Steve flashed him a quiet smile. “Well, Mister Party Animal, what do you suggest?”

Taking a sip of his drink, Bucky shrugged. “I'd say dancing, but we'd be the only ones.”

Steve raised an eyebrow as he took a sip of his own drink. “You gonna teach me that too?”

Bucky heaved a longsuffering sigh, swirling his drink and flashing Steve a grin over the top of his glass. “Someone has to.”

Most everyone had already taken the time to come over and offer personal happy belated birthdays and good wishes, so Steve wasn't really sure what he was meant to be doing—having a drink that tasted good but had no effect on him aside from that, apparently.

Nat and Clint were slumped half on top of each other on a couch listening to a story Sam was telling which he punctuated by throwing bits of snack foods at them. Peter was showing off his wall-and-ceiling-walking prowess, even when no one was watching. Jane had drifted over and engaged Bruce in conversation while Thor enthusiastically regaled the Maximoff twins with some heroic tale that required frequent gesturing with his hammer. T'Challa was deep in a conversation with Carol while Melinda and Maria sat nearby, quietly stirring their drinks. Probably listening; T'Challa was a good storyteller.

Trip and Sharon were chatting animatedly on another couch. Darcy was openly flirting with Sif, who really didn't seem to mind. Skye and Jemma were on the balcony, shoulders nearly touching as they looked out over the city.

Phil had disappeared, no doubt to frame the cards Steve had finally signed for him—Steve was losing track of who still didn't know that Phil was back from the dead. Same with Fury for that matter, who had also disappeared, no doubt to sneak some work on his phone or something. Or maybe he was trying to bug the Tower again. It wouldn't exactly be a surprise; it was almost a game with Tony at this point. (And with everyone else; even Thor had gotten pretty good at finding bugs and removing them.)

Mike and Ace were playing video games in a corner while Mack and Fitz watched and heckled. Logan had done everyone a favour and taken Wade down to play in the Hulk containment cell thing (having Tony and Wade in the same room never ended well). Bobbi and Lance had probably slipped off to do things in Tower locations Tony had probably already done 'things' in. And on.

The president had even made an appearance _in person_ , but she was long gone. Odin had also appeared briefly, using that Asgardian magic hologram thing that even Thor didn't seem to understand—at least not well enough to explain it to Tony. Who...would probably throw a tantrum when someone told him he'd missed that, since he was itching to reverse-engineer it. Steve couldn't help grinning at the thought.

Steve graciously accepted more birthday greetings from Pepper, Rhodey, Happy...and Bruce, of course, who apologized needlessly for being late and for his rudeness despite not having been rude at all.

Doctor Selvig had wandered off...somewhere. Possibly with the Koenigs?

Steve was starting to realize he didn't actually know all the people at his party. Even aside from visiting dignitaries. Unless some of these people were in fact visiting dignitaries that Steve was meant to recognize.

“Hey, pal.” Bucky bumped his shoulder into Steve's again. Steve blinked at him. Bucky leaned closer, pitching his voice low. “You still with us?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Steve ducked his head sheepishly. “I was just...” But it was pretty obvious he'd gotten lost in thought. He shook his head then took a sip of his drink hoping maybe the cold liquid would help wake him up. “Guess maybe one whole day sleeping wasn't quite enough?” He meant it as a joke, but Bucky's eyes narrowed with actual worry, and he was probably about to start spouting his best mother hen lines when Tony appeared at Steve's elbow, slapping him roughly on the back.

“Happy centennial, Encino Man!” He took a large gulp of his drink. “Pepper says I have to play nice with the other kids for today, so here I am, making my best effort.” He flashed Steve a slightly hazy grin. “You do anything special to celebrate? Other than the party of course.” Without waiting for an answer, he twisted his head around, casting his gaze about the room. “Should get Zeus and Robocop here to give you the birthday bumps—did anyone manage to hire a stripper? Pepper wouldn't let me.” He pouted. “I'm not sure what good a one-hundredth birthday is if you can't even get a lap dance from a total stranger.”

“Steve didn't bring his sketchpad,” Bucky said, deadpan.

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

Bucky leaned in, grinning crookedly. “You know Steve here only ever wants to do _one thing_ when someone's got their clothes off.” He paused for dramatic effect then added, “ _Draw_ 'em.”

Tony snorted inelegantly. “You two must have a very boring sex life. I mean, unless you're really _into_ that sort of thing.” He raised an eyebrow at Bucky.

Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Guy's gotta make do. It's not so bad being his wife, all things considered.”

“Husband,” Steve corrected, then tried not to blush when he realized he'd just said that out loud. In front of Tony.

But Bucky was grinning the brightest grin Steve had seen from him in a long time and Tony was looking both confused and utterly off balance, so maybe it had been a good thing to say after all.

“If you two were actually married,” Tony insisted after a short moment of quiet, “I would have heard about it. I would _know_. I know things. I'm a hacker.” He took a mouthful of his drink and swallowed it then let out a breath. “I wouldn't necessarily have told anyone else, but I _would_ know.”

Bucky quirked one eyebrow, tilting his head slightly to one side. Steve looked down at his drink and put on his best 'I'm being both serious and honest' voice—it helped that what he meant to say was actually true—and said, “I've always believed marriage is something personal and sacred, between two people and God.”

He was about to go on, say a bit about the function of legal marriages and their importance to those who chose that route, but Tony interrupted him, shaking his head emphatically and saying, “No, no, no, _no_.” As if denying something enough times could actually invalidate it. “You—” He pointed at Steve. “—are still a virgin.” That much was true. “A virgin who's only been kissed, like, _twice_ in the entire century he's been alive.” That really wasn't true. It was more like four times. “And besides,” Tony added, rolling his eyes and wrinkling his nose, “there's no way you've gotten past your olden days Catholic Guilt repression, so _nope_.” He took a swallow of his drink with a flash of victory in his eyes.

The challenge sang in Steve's veins better than any alcohol had back when his body deigned to feel its effects at all. Tony just _needed_ to be proved wrong. There wasn't really any other relevant concern. “Sweetheart?” he said, setting his drink down on the closest available surface and holding his hand out to Bucky. Bucky's eyes flashed with the most beautiful sort of triumph as he stepped into Steve's embrace and kissed him.

And kissed him. Like Steve was air, water, gravity—inevitable and necessary. They ended up falling backwards onto a nearby couch that was very thankfully unoccupied, Bucky straddling Steve's lap as he continued to attack his mouth, jaw, neck.

When Bucky finally took a long enough break to turn his head and judge Tony's reaction, Tony was just standing there, gaping. “The fuck was that?” he demanded, gesturing to the two of them weakly. “That—” He spluttered. “Have either of you mummified corpses ever heard the phrase 'get a room'? Because I'm pretty fucking sure it _applies_. I mean, thanks for the free porn show and all, but...”

Letting out a soft snort, Bucky rolled his eyes, leaning in to scrape his teeth over Steve's earlobe, prompting Steve's hands to tighten on his hips—when had Steve put his hands there, anyway? “Now who's repressed?” Bucky asked, eyes flickering, dark and knowing, between Steve and Tony. Flipping his hair back with his metal hand, Bucky rolled his hips a little, and Steve couldn't help blushing. “He's gonna jerk off to this later,” Bucky added in a stage whisper to Steve, winking pointedly at Tony. Steve blushed even harder and let his eyes fall shut for a moment, hoping he looked more tired than flustered.

“All right, pay up, Tony!” Clint called, thumping his fist loudly on an end table.

“Fuck you, Barton,” Tony called back.

“No thanks; you're not my type.” A pause, and then Clint added, “But you are gonna pay me and everyone else who bet against you.”

Steve kind of wished the couch cushions would take pity on him and swallow him whole. At least Bucky was still blocking his view of most of the room so he didn't have to see most of their audience. “They _bet_ on—on us?”

Bucky rolled his shoulders, shaking his head as he looked down at Steve. “Are you really surprised?”

Steve grimaced. He shouldn't have been surprised, of course, but he just hadn't even considered it. “Pretty sure I don't want to know who all made bets.” It was bad enough knowing Clint and Tony had, and also which way both had bet. He squirmed slightly, trying to shift his position without actually grinding his crotch against Bucky's. Now that he wasn't being distracted by the motion and wet heat of Bucky's lips, he realized he wasn't exactly sitting in the most comfortable position. Especially not with Bucky's added (and considerable) weight on top of him.

Chuckling, Bucky slid off of Steve and let him settle then snuggled up to his side with his head resting back against Steve's shoulder. Steve let his arm drape down across Bucky's chest, and Bucky laced their fingers together with a contented sigh.

“That was some show you two put on,” Sam said, voice filled with warm, impressed approval as he sat down across from them. Steve couldn't quite look at him because he was still blushing like an idiot—and why did he have to _do_ these things with no thought whatsoever of the consequences? Tony'd been proven wrong, gloriously, and his reaction had been even better than Steve had hoped. But Steve was blushing like...well, like the sad little Catholic virgin he was. And he couldn't _stop_.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said, turning his head where it lay to look at Sam, “the Star Spangled Man With a Plan has a bit of experience with showmanship.” Steve hid his face in the top of Bucky's hair. It kind of smelled nice.

Sam nodded. “I've seen the old films.”

He might have been about to say something else when Darcy plopped down next to him, a broad smile on her face. She leaned forward, eyes bright. “I just wanted to say: congratulations! I don't know how long you two have been a couple or _out_ or any of that, but I'm just really happy for you. I think it's great.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, voice warm and sincere.

After she walked away again, Sam added, “So long as you're happy, I'm happy for you.”

As he stood to leave as well, Steve said, “Sam?” reaching out for his hand.

“Yeah?” Taking Steve's hand and giving it a squeeze, Sam met Steve's gaze, his own eyes warm and kind.

Steve ducked his head then met Sam's gaze once more. “Thanks.” With another squeeze, Steve released his hand.

“Hey, no problem.” He patted Steve's shoulder as he turned to go. “And I know I said it before, but...happy birthday.”

Steve rested his cheek on the top of Bucky's hair, soft strands tickling his skin. He was quiet for a while as the background conversations buzzed low about the room. “So we're a couple now.” It wasn't even a question, not really, more of a slightly dazed observation.

Bucky shifted a bit, lazily pressing back against Steve. “Pretty sure we've been a couple for a while already; you're just a bit slow to catch up.”

“Um...sorry?” After a moment he added, “How long have we been a couple?”

Bucky shrugged. “Not really sure; not sure it matters.”

“Okay, but...” Steve let out a breath. “You're being serious now? No jokes, this isn't just part of the game?”

Tilting his head back, Bucky grinned at Steve upside down. “It was never a game. Not for me.”

“Oh.” Steve stared down at him. Oh, God. Had he really—? Had he really been totally oblivious to Bucky's feelings? No wonder Bucky'd always seemed so sad!

“Hey.” Bucky nudged him with his shoulder. “Don't have a crisis now, okay?”

“Sorry. I—I just—” Steve's breath was coming too fast, but he wasn't sure how to slow it down. “I'm going to mess this up. Worse. I've already messed it up.” For most of a damn _century_ , apparently. He rubbed his free hand over his mouth. “God, Buck, why—? Why the hell would you want _me_?”

Bucky twisted around so he could face Steve properly and brushed his fingers across Steve's cheek. “Hey. We're gonna be okay, all right? I was lying that night: I do love you. Still. I don't think that's ever gonna change.”

“But...” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed. “I don't know what to do.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve's forehead. “You don't have to 'do' anything. There's no rules, no script—and if there was, I don't think either of us would have any interest in following them anyway.”

Laughing, soft and relieved, Steve bumped his forehead gently against Bucky's. “Okay.”

“So...” Bucky squinted at him questioningly. “Crisis done for now?”

Steve nodded a bit shakily. “For now.”

“Good.” Bucky kissed him again. It helped.

After a few moments, Steve pulled back. “But we'll need an anniversary, a specific date—to celebrate.”

“Okay.” Bucky looked thoughtful. “We can count from the first kiss—that way, we know we're not _under_ estimating.”

Steve chewed on his lip. “I guess that works for me.” Then his eyes went wide and he gripped Bucky's bicep. “That means we haven't even seen each other for most of it; I was gone a whole month.”

Bucky shrugged, tilting his head to one side unconcernedly. “So you'll make it up to me.” He flashed Steve a wicked smile, and Steve blushed.

But when they finally fell through the door of their apartment later that night, Steve still wasn't sure what Bucky had meant by that. Bucky had made it pretty clear that Steve didn't _have_ to do anything—though, Steve certainly wouldn't mind a bit more kissing—but obviously there were things Bucky _wanted_. He'd mentioned 'fucking' and 'giving head', for example. And...that hadn't just been part of the game, because Bucky had _never been playing_.

“Stevie?” Bucky brushed his knuckles along the line of Steve's jaw, eyes narrowed with concern. “You're kinda zoning out here on me.”

“Do you want to fuck?” The words tumbled out of Steve's mouth like a helpless kitten trying to navigate stairs for the first time.

Bucky's brows twisted with incredulity. “You're exhausted. You can barely stand up.”

“Figured most people did it lying down,” Steve retorted as he let Bucky lead him to his bed. “'M no expert, though.” He obediently sat down on the edge of his bed and looked up at Bucky. “Obviously.”

“It's still not something you should do when you're physically, mentally, or emotionally exhausted.” Bucky pulled Steve's shirt off and tossed it at the hamper. “It's not very fun that way; and it's supposed to be fun.”

“Okay.” Steve fumbled to undo his pants. “But sometime? You're going to want that. With me.”

“Steve.” Bucky sat down next to him on the bed and put his hand on Steve's knee, the heat comforting through the fabric. “I've kinda figured out over the years that sex isn't something that's overly important to you—not everyone turns one-hundred while still a virgin, right?”

“I was waiting for the right partner,” Steve countered. He flashed Bucky a warm, shy smile. “Pretty sure I've found him.”

Bucky grinned like he was happier than he had a right to be, ducking his head a bit, eyes bright. “Fair enough. But you still don't _have_ to do anything. This isn't like a dare, Stevie; if we ever have sex, I want you to want it for _yourself_. Not just for me. Not to prove something.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he stood up to strip off his pants, leaving just his boxer-briefs. He tossed his pants at the hamper. “Sure, take the fun out of everything.” He flopped back down on the bed.

“Stevie, I'm serious.” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “Sex isn't some bully in a back alley you pick a fight with and then pretend it didn't hurt when he breaks your nose.”

Steve pressed up against Bucky's side, wrapping his arms around his chest. “You wouldn't hurt me, Buck.”

“I'd try not to,” Bucky allowed, petting Steve's hair gently. He slid back on the bed, turning them both so they could lie against the pillows, even though Bucky was still fully dressed save his shoes. Steve cuddled closer to his side contentedly. Bucky let out a sigh. “But sex can hurt, even if no one means for it to hurt. It just can.”

Steve shrugged. “I'm pretty tough, Bucky. I heal fast.”

Bucky made a frustrated sound, his arm tightening around Steve's shoulders. “That's not the point. I wouldn't want it to hurt in the first place. I _don't want_ to hurt you. _Ever_.”

Steve heaved a longsuffering sigh. “Okay, okay.” He tilted his head so he could look up into Bucky's face. “Does giving head hurt?”

Bucky's brow furrowed. “It...shouldn't.” He grinned a bit and shook his head. “So long as no one bites down or thrusts too forcefully, I think it's pretty 'safe' pain-wise.”

Wait, 'thrusts'? Like, _into_ the other person's mouth? Steve frowned. That just sounded both rude and kinda gross. But then, a lot of things about sex were kinda gross if he thought about them for very long. He relaxed against Bucky's chest, closing his eyes. “Minimal teeth: got it.” Really, it couldn't be _that_ different from kissing. Just like...kissing a somewhat more sensitive body part.

Chuckling, Bucky kissed the top of Steve's head. “Sounds like heaven.”

Steve shifted a bit, making a noncommittal noise. “Don't get your hopes too high; I'm still terrible at kissing, remember?”

“I like how you kiss,” Bucky countered. “Though of course...I suppose I'm a bit biased, since I kind of think the sun shines out of your ass.”

Steve punched him weakly in the ribs. “You're a real romantic, Buck; you know just what to say to capture a guy's heart.”

Bucky caught Steve's hand and brought it to his lips to kiss it. “Go to sleep, Stevie; we can talk more about sex tomorrow.”

Steve rubbed his cheek against the material of Bucky's shirt. “You gonna sleep like this, Buck?”

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose I could strip down to my boxers too—how do you feel about semi-naked cuddling?”

Steve grinned helplessly, hiding his too hot face against the swell of Bucky's muscled chest. “It sounds wonderful, Buck.”

 


End file.
